


code white light

by bstarship



Series: the risk of moving on [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angel Peter Parker, Angel Tony Stark, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Precious Peter Parker, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Tony Stark Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-05-28 05:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19387009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship
Summary: In which Peter experiences a Harry Potter moment,and Spider-Man is dead for five minutes.





	code white light

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve already seen far from home twice. fuck. it’s been out for two days.

Peter’s day started with a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. He couldn’t remember the rest after that. 

-

“We need oxygen!”

“Can someone grab an anesthesiologist?”

“On it.”

“Peter–– Peter, honey. Can you hear me?”

“Send him to the next available OR.”

“Doctor Steinem is waiting for him in OR three.”

“Everything is going to be okay, Peter. You’re going to be okay. Just hold on sweetie.”

“Apply more pressure on his lower abdomen.”

“Did anybody grab the oxygen?”

Peter’s eyes refused to stay open. The more he strained to see through the bright lights of the world around him, the more his eyes ached to resist. And there was pain creeping up his chest, a certain pain that left his limbs numb and prickly as the air supply in his lungs severed. All that his senses could latch onto were the sharp stinging in his hands and the metallic taste on his tongue. Everything otherwise was secondary–– even the rush of the stretcher rolling beneath him. His torso felt wet, and Peter hadn’t even noticed the particular suit sticking to his body.

Yet his moments of consciousness never lasted long.

Someone was holding his hand the next time his eyes blinked awake. But Peter could barely make out a face–– he could barely hear the voices through the vacuum of space swirling around his brain. He couldn’t take control. In all actuality, Peter felt as light as air, and he didn’t mind. And he lacked too much energy to stay in tune with the nurses surrounding him.

“Get a mask on him!”

“You’re so close, Peter. We’re gonna make sure everything’s okay.”

“His pulse is weakening.”

“Keep applying pressure!”

“You gotta stay with us, honey. Stay with us, Peter. C’mon, stay with us!”

Peter had lived in Queens his entire life; he had never lived a moment without constant sound. And yet, it was like white noise ceased to exist. For those last few seconds, Peter believed all he was, was a consciousness floating in the vast space of another dimension.

-

It was a lot like sleeping at first. A dreamless sleep with no feelings, no morals, and no signs of existence. And it only lasted a moment, and then the black turned white. Peter struggled to remember where he was and where he had been–– all he knew was the plaiting of air between his fingers and the warmth of his clothes against his skin. Something told him that this altered state was not a dream or illusion; it was real. It was another world.

He could count his fingers and toes. He could see the stitches in his jeans and the wrinkles in his shirt. He could inhale and exhale, and he could touch the breeze beneath his palms. And before him, he could see nothing but an expansive hallway of white. For a moment, he swore he had been transported directly into _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_.

But there was no King’s Cross. No ugly curled up mass beneath a bench. No shimmering, pale wizard to tell him to stay or go. Nothing but white.

Peter decided he had to explore. Because Peter believed he was in heaven, and he wanted to know if it was everything he wanted and more.

He didn’t think about the life he left behind. He didn’t think about the loved ones who would learn of his passing through cell phone calls or word-of-mouth. No Happy. No May. No MJ or Ned. He didn’t think about his city or his alter-ego. He didn’t think about what the world would think knowing both Spider-Man and Peter Parker were gone. But then again, sometimes he believed that they wouldn’t even care.

There was a small shift in the energy around him. It felt like a click, and suddenly he had the feeling that his presence was not the only one within this pristine palace. Peter’s chest filled with a familiar ache–– something he almost didn’t want to acknowledge. The ache was good. It was nostalgic. It was happy and comforting and meanwhile filled with anxiety so great it took over his entire body.

 _This is so weird_.

Peter blinked. Maybe his senses were overwhelmed. Maybe his deceased mind had begun to play tricks on him. Maybe Quentin was back. Or maybe, just maybe, there actually was a figure on the horizon. And maybe it was walking toward him.

_Is that God? He’s kinda small..._

“H-hello?” Peter called out. The hairs on his arm raised as his voice echoed through the vast interior. “If–– if you’re here to kill me, I think I’m already dead.”

The figure––or rather a mere dark smudge in his vision––remained stagnant against the canvas of white. It didn’t even wave hello.

_I’m going to die here. Wait, that’s stupid, Peter. You’re already dead. Probably._

Peter closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He was dead; he had to be. This was unlike the myriad of dreams he’d experienced growing up. It was a good place, a homey place where he could feel and breathe and touch and smell. It was where he could think calmly without anxiety taking control.

The awareness of the opposing presence grew stronger. Not only did Peter’s chest continue to ache, but his hands longed to reach out and grab ahold of something. His heart yearned for comfort. So, he opened his eyes to see what all of the internal fuss was about.

A cunning smirk was there to greet him.

Before Peter allowed himself to craft another word, his eyes traced over the man before him. They examined every line and wrinkle all the way down to the hands in neat pockets. Peter’s eyes allowed his mind to recollect every memory and emotion from the life he once lived.

“I’m really dead,” said Peter, a newfound strength residing in the tone of his voice. His eyes glazed with tears.

The man shrugged lazily. “Depends. Could be a dream.”

“Mister Stark.”

And the air stood still between them.

“Yeah, kid.” Tony’s smile grew. “It’s me.”

“It’s––“ Peter’s eyes were wide, and his heart echoed in his ears. He now understood the desire to reach out for something. He wanted to reach for the mentor he lost. “It’s you.”

Tony opened his arms. “In the flesh. Well, sorta.”

Peter stared at him, speechless.

“You used t’be so chatty,” said Tony. “Death got you down?”

Peter could not reply.

“You’re right,” the older man continued, “I shouldn’t be joking about that.” He continued to keep his gaze locked on Peter, an ever-present smile never leaving his lips.

“It’s you,” Peter whispered again. He wasn’t stung with crunching pain, nor debilitated by the sight of Tony once again. Truly, Peter felt more at peace than he had in a long, long time.

He took a hesitant step forward, his bare feet still not used to the harsh cold of the white marble below him. To Peter, he was staring at a statue— a renaissance piece untouched by man, and all he wanted to do was _reach his hand up._

Peter’s pointer finger came in contact with Tony’s scruffy cheek, and the older man started to giggle. It was light, so light and calm and everything Peter had wanted to hear for too long. It was a Tony Stark he had touched upon away from the battle, away from the austere that always made Peter feel so small.

Peter grinned and let himself sink into the embrace of his former mentor. “I’ve missed you so much,” the kid mumbled against layers of clothing. “It’s unfair. It’s so unfair. Y-you—“ Peter pulled away from the quick hug. “You had a family. You had a life. It’s— it’s not fair.”

Tony’s smile had finally fallen. “Pete, it’s okay.”

“No,” said Peter. “No. No, it’s not, and—“

The hug resumed, and Tony initiated. All because Peter’s cheeks were now streaked with tears.

Peter wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he first arrived here. He wasn’t sure how long he had let himself immerse in the positive feelings. He also wasn’t sure how long he and Tony had been hugging for. Nevertheless, there was more comfort in this moment than Peter had ever experienced in his seventeen years of living.

But, in all honesty, was he even living?

“You know what, Pete?” Tony asked through the silence.

Peter hummed.

Tony leaned back away from the hug to look at the kid. With his hands on Peter’s shoulders, Tony appeared unscathed, untouched by the evil device he held to rid himself of anymore pain. “Let’s take a walk.”

-

Peter was terrified.

It was all because he wasn’t distraught. He wasn’t heartbroken over the loss of life. He had been so many things: beaten, dejected, trapped... even a hero. But he hadn’t been this _light_ before. He hadn’t wiggled his fingers and toes and _not_ experienced some form of shooting pain. He hadn’t been able to waste a minute without stressing over surviving.

The most terrifying thing of all was that Peter didn’t mind being dead. He didn’t mind not feeling his heartbeat if he focused hard enough. He didn’t mind any of it because of the company standing beside him.

The certain _company_ that was going on and on about the ratio of his daughter’s Spider-Man drawings compared to her Iron Man drawings. Tony had his thoughts and opinions about the number, and Peter just thought it was hilarious.

And it felt _really good_ to laugh, especially with Tony. Not only had Peter gone too long without the laughter, but Tony had as well. He had gone years. Apparently, dying was not Peter’s first rodeo.

“––but you’re not like, her favorite or anything, _obviously_ ,” said Tony. “She would literally _steal_ my helmet. All she did with you was pick up spiders and say _Pweter!_ ”

“Sh-she knew my name?” Peter walked with his head hung low and his hands clasped together before him. There wasn’t a single negative emotion running through him, but even in death, he couldn’t shake the awkward he felt in Tony’s shadow.

Tony chuckled. “I mean, _yeah_. She can already recite the quadratic formula. All it took was me mentioning your name once, and she caught on t’how much you meant to me, I guess.”

A smile tugged at Peter’s lips. “How much I mean to you?”

“Yeah.”

“How much _do_ I mean to you, Mister Stark?” asked Peter. Although his heart was silent, he could imagine its loud thumps in his hollow chest.

There was a moment of silence that left Peter wondering if his question had even been worth it. He didn’t wonder about what Tony would say per se, except where his existence had once lied not only before but after the blip. (Truth be told, Peter hated calling it. He was among the very few who experienced much more that day.) Peter wondered if his entire life had only led up to him being a simple legacy.

But it really wasn’t that simple.

“A lot more than you know, kid,” said Tony. His face twisted a bit. “Well, _knew_. I never got the chance to totally convince you of your value. I was too busy helicoptering you to make sure you wouldn’t die. Or get others killed. Because we both know that has almost happened.”

Peter let out a nervous chuckle as the pair carried on walking through nothingness.

“It was almost impossible to carry on that first year, y’know,” Tony continued. He pushed his glasses up a bit higher on his nose. “Pepper and I had talked about having a kid for a while beforehand, and then after losing you–– well, it reminded me that I already one basically.”

Peter frowned.

“’m sure you’ve already taken a glimpse at every suit I had planned for you,” said Tony.

“Yeah. It was–– it was, uh, a lot.” Peter cleared his throat.

So, Tony laughed again. “Yeah, sure was. Made those all within the first year. Then Morgan came along, so I had to be real with myself. I had to focus on other priorities. But there was always a part of me that just–– just believed you weren’t actually gone, I guess. I mean, I don’t wanna get sappy, so pinch me if you start getting teary. A few years after Morgan was born, I started tinkering on your suits again, and she had just left her terrible two’s, so she wanted t’know _everything_. And I told her everything. Didn’t know how to explain why you were such a big part of my life. Actually told her she was your sister. Figured that would make––“

“Sister?” Peter wondered. He was sure, if he had been alive, his hands would be as clammy as ever. “Y-you–– she thought–– she thinks I’m–– I’m her brother?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Tony, “she loved talkin’ about you. She begged me for Spider-Man bedsheets.”

“Bedsheets...”

“I think what hurt most about it all––“ Tony let out a quiet sigh. “––was how much she looked up t’you. Her big brother was Spider-Man. How _cool?_ She didn’t care about who I was. Well, she did, but now she was related to _two_ superheroes.”

Peter smiled weakly. The word “superhero” always had the same impact, no matter how many times he heard it.

“She had you,” continued Tony, “even when you two hadn’t met. I wish–– god, I wish I had been there when you did meet.”

“She ran into my arms,” Peter replied. “She knew who I was.”

“Well, duh.” Tony chuckled. “She thought you were her brother. She saw your face every day.”

Peter let everything sink in for a moment. He was here with Tony in a new plane, a new realm that earth didn’t quite touch. And they were talking about life as if it had been nothing to them. But it was everything. Peter couldn’t understand what Tony meant when he said that Morgan saw his face every day, but he didn’t question it. He didn’t question it because he wanted to believe Tony had his photographs all over his house. He wanted to believe he really was treated like a son, even in death.

“I guess that’s why she called me her brother that one time,” mumbled Peter, a smile teasing on his lips as Tony nudged into his shoulder.

“You really didn’t put two-and-two together, huh?”

Peter shrugged. “I mean, it’s _me_ Mister Stark.”

“Okay, true.”

The pair fell into a comfortable silence after that. Echoes of Tony’s shoes hitting the marble filled the empty space, and the reality of the situation hit Peter so suddenly. There was a pressure in his chest that tightened the more they walked, and soon enough, he felt too light to carry on. His head buzzed as his toes hit the back of his heels. He was dead. He was dead. And he was finally with Tony again.

He was with _Tony_ , the man who unintentionally became a father figure to a kid who refused to let his anxiety crumble his world. The kid who saw loss and betrayal, who was barely fifteen when he found a new strength to hold onto. The kid who walked into his home one day after school and was faced with the ugly yet golden truth. Once Tony Stark met Peter Parker, there was no doubt that he was much more than a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. It was what Peter wanted–– he would never regret it, but it was a life that cost him more than what he originally imagined. Tony had warned him.

It cost Peter his life twice. _And Tony had warned him_.

“I didn’t make a sacrifice,” said Peter, his voice catching in his throat. A familiar feeling of panic had crawled up into his chest. “I’m here–– I’m here because I messed up. I-I didn’t make a sacrifice.”

“Not everyone makes a sacrifice, Pete,” Tony replied. “You’re not a hero because you make one last big sacrifice. You’re a hero because of the many sacrifices you made in the past. I should have been dead in 2008. And in 2009, 2010, and so on. Because I did stupid things, and I made sacrifices. You risked your life every day. And when you went up against Quentin? Pete, I was up here holdin’ my breath. I couldn’t help but think it was all my fault.”

“That’s––“ Peter swallowed. He didn’t want to cry, but it was already too late. “That’s not true. H-he wasn’t a hero. Not for the right reasons.”

“You’re right,” said Tony, “because he didn’t make a sacrificial play. He hid behind a curtain. I wished I could’ve come down and killed him myself. Ya have t’be insane to wanna go after a kid like that.”

“I gave him E.D.I.T.H.”

“Don’t even get me started on that.”

Peter cracked a grin.

Tony set his arm around Peter’s shoulders, and the pair stopped walking. “You have the biggest heart in the world, Pete. I’ll always be proud of you.”

When Tony smiled, a strange sensation filled Peter’s chest cavity. Like a heartbeat. The bright white surrounding them had dulled. And Peter felt like he was fading.

“Mister Stark,” Peter mumbled, eyes wide. “I can’t–– what’s happening?”

Tony seemed unfazed. His smile was sympathetic and warm as he stared almost lovingly at Peter. “It’s not your time yet, kid. The world isn’t ready to lose ya. I’m just glad I got t’see ya again.”

Peter started to cry. It came in hiccupping wails, a cry unlike he what he had experienced in years. He stumbled into Tony and wrapped his arms around his torso, but just as the older man steadied the embrace, Peter’s world turned black again.

“Love ya, kid.”

The dreamless sleep returned, and Tony Stark vanished.

-

“There’s a heartbeat!”

“Keep him stable.”

“Peter, honey, don’t leave us again.”

“Vitals are good.”

“This–– this is insane.”

“What?”

“His wound. It’s already healed.”

-

Peter awoke craving a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. To his right, MJ and Ned sat asleep in chairs. Aunt May was at the foot of his bed with a book, and Happy was standing at the door guarding to make sure no unauthorized personnel entered.

And Peter smiled. Tony Stark was proud of him. Tony Stark loved him.

“Mornin’,” mumbled Peter. “Can I get some cereal?”


End file.
